Asking myself what writing means to me, I realized that writing serves as an escape from my messy daily life and an entrance to my utopia, the world established by the voice deep inside me and the harmony with others’ thoughts.

The first time I found writing enjoyable was in junior high school. Before then, writing was just a way to gain attention and accomplishment from my parents. I was supposed to use analogy, personification and parallel structures to demonstrate how I had been developing my writing skills—I wanted to be recognized as a student who was good at writing, and a daughter who satisfied my parents’ expectations.

However, things changed during junior high school, when I had a young lady, Miss Jin, who just graduated from college as my Chinese teacher. With straight black hair to her waist, she always wore long dresses. I cannot forget her warm smile and the gentle voice she used to read my composition aloud. Unlike Chinese teachers in other classes, she asked the students to turn in a composition every week instead of assigning boring readings to us.

At first, students’ reaction was so negative: When she announced the weekend assignments, quite a few students in my class yelled, “That’s too much for the weekend!” “What? Without a given topic? That’s not how it works.” “This writing assignment sucks!” There were complaints filling the classroom, including my own.. I was so used to writing on given topics that it was killing me to find a topic myself. Reluctantly, I went to Miss Jin’s office and asked for ideas and detailed requirements. “No requirements! I just want to know if anything interesting or upsetting happens to you this week and how you feel about it. Writing can reflect who you are and I would like to know my students better.”

That was a shock to me! What should I do? I started to pay close attention to those enchanted interludes; I viewed the people around me in a different light, observed closely the views that caught my eyes and tried my best to revivify these with my own understanding in my writing. Later, I gradually grew accustomed to this freestyle writing.

Actually, it turned out to be one of my best writing experiences ever, and I really appreciated it because I could pour out my heart. Some of you may have experienced the same period as I did, a time of feeling uncomfortable or even bashful to share your thoughts and feelings with your parents. I considered Miss Jin as a big sister and believed she would be a good listener to my stories. Putting on my headphones, I felt like I was entering my utopia, free to express my ideas. I always remember this scene: My parents would be watching the blind date TV show on Sunday nights, and I hid in my own room and began to recall the interesting, joyful or sometimes depressing moments. They could be provoking and moving films, small episodes happening between my friends and me, or amazing sunset views.

Time flies, and it was not long before I said goodbye to Miss Jin. High school turned out to be a nightmare to my writing life. My high school was exam-oriented, and famous for its enrollment rate to colleges and universities. None of the teachers there were like Miss Jin. Instead, they tried to instill this belief in me: what really matters is not what you think, but what teachers, especially those grading your composition, like to read. As the Chinese saying goes, “Grades determine your fate.”

Fortunately, I figured out my own way—writing journals in English. They don’t have to be long and well-structured; actually, most of them were composed of primary words and simple sentences, which I would not even regard as writing now. Nevertheless, I felt peaceful and relaxed because, finally, I didn’t need to pretend to be someone else or worried about getting accused of doing things irrelevant and unimportant to studying. English writing to me was and is an escape from the suffocating exams and homework.

I believe that’s the reason why exam-oriented education hasn’t smashed my interest in English, and why I had no hesitation to take the Supply Chain course in English rather than in Chinese. The course was taught in a western style – students were asked to conduct a group project at the end of the semester, writing a case study essay and presenting on it. This class is where I learned academic writing in English and became familiar with the spirit of group work.

For the first time, I knew how to find my voice and find my position in a group. I was shy at first to share my ideas with others and afraid to be too talkative. One of my group members happened to know me well and encouraged me, “Share your ideas with us. You never know when your thoughts can inspire others.” Gradually, I opened my mind and actively contributed to our discussion instead of keeping my perspectives to myself.

For the first time, I realized the differences in writing between English and Chinese: English writing requires a certain logic, usually reflected in the organization and structure. At the very start, I felt awkward to state my points directly in the beginning of every paragraph, but after I got used to it, I could appreciate the charm of this structure. I could always demonstrate the key points clearly and the ideas flowed smoothly afterwards. It was also such fun to revise my part, combining short sentences into longer ones and varying word choice. I believe I have started to establish my own writing style since then.

When I look back today, I find those experiences the stars in the night sky that have guided my way. Even now, writing allows me to enter my private space, my Utopia where I can find my own voice and express myself without reservation. As long as my journey to my utopia does not end, nor does my writing.